let the purge commence

I have been itching to write. For weeks now I have been writing behind my eyelids, on my inner lips, and under my bare feet. I have been quilting the ideas and then letting them fall back into pieces. Hadn't I been blocked by depression for months, tell me why I didn't rush to record the long missed words as soon as the itch surfaced? Strike that, I don't need you to tell me; I know why. I'll tell you why; I have resisted to scratch my lovely little itch because of the filth that shall come purging out. The pipes are backed up, you see, and once I get the juices flowing again the first surge will be nothing but an adolescent's confusion, an artist's suffering and a woman's burden. I will cut and claw and bite and spit. The first surge will be stinky and ugly and hurtful.

My beauty is hidden beneath years of spite;
I will be brutally honest before I am understanding;
My pessimism will consume you until I begin to make you laugh.

There is nothing peaceful about my current existence. I have very little control over my moods and am having trouble trusting my own judgement. At the end of the day I have only one true purpose "I want to care for others and I want to be cared for." No wonder I grow more spiteful each day I feel unseen, unheard, untouched.

I am loved by my husband in a way I never thought I would be loved. He writes me love notes, love letters, love breakfasts. He fills my water bottle all day every day; he tells me he loves me; and gasps at the sight of my naked body. He buys me graphic novels to make me happy, to say "I'm sorry", yet he also buys me graphic novels right after an argument about our financial situation during which I had tried to illustrate why we had to stop buying anything but necessities. Under the observing eyes of a guest, he lowers his generous gifts from his high silver horse. So many times has he painted me as the ungrateful, rigid, bitchy, witchy, impossible wife in front friends and family that I believe it now. I can see through their eyes, I can see how I look from where they stand.

I feel dark and ugly and heavy most of the time.
Then once in a while I am luminous and divine and light.
I am unheard, unseen, untouched weeks on end;
then comes a day when I am one with the universe
and connected to all through time and space.